


Solitary Lies

by GlitteringKitten



Category: 21 Jump Street
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, HIV/AIDS, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 07:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitteringKitten/pseuds/GlitteringKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanson's thoughts and actions through out the episode titled "Big disease with a little name."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solitary Lies

**Author's Note:**

> While not the main focus of the story, there are canonical mentions of Doug's relationship with Penny and Dorothy, as there are mentions of Tom's relationship with Amy and hints of backstory with Brian, the kid from the episode "Mean Streets & Pastel Houses".

The first thing I notice is how Penhall’s dressed. Puffer jacket, tight jeans, red shirt. I’m not listening to him talk, there’s no way I want to hear about Doug’s latest squeeze. There’s no point. He’ll talk about her for a couple of days, then move on. It’s how Doug Penhall works. I feel a small smile flicker across my face. Oh yeah, I know that idea. Dish them in, deal them out. I’ve been there a few times myself. But he always comes back to me. They just disappear.  


“Love is wonderful thing, Doug, don’t screw it up. Don’t call her.” I joke, patting him on the shoulder. Whatever parting shot Doug throws at me is lost in the bustle of the other workers, but the small, unimpressed look Doug shoots me can be seen miles away. It’s not like I don’t want to be romantic, I just don’t get the chance. Hell, if I got the chance of course I’d be romantic. Flowers. Warm baths. Figures between the sheets; late nights, early mornings. All of it. But Amy’s not into all of that. At least, not with me.  


“How much do you know about AIDS?” Fuller asks. AIDS? It’s like a question from nowhere. How much _should_ I know about AIDS, is the real question. I know quite a lot, but if I admit that, I’d probably have to say why. So I do what Doug would do. I bluff. Say I know what everyone knows. Nothing, really. But it’s a lie. I know a lot about AIDS; I’ve done my research. It was something I had to do. And boy, do I wish I hadn’t. The stuff you read about. None of it’s good.  


“Does it scare you?”  


“When I think about it, yeah.” What I don’t tell the Captain is that I think about it a lot. Every time Doug comes over, I think about it. Every time he says something obscene in my ear, I think about it. But I don’t let it ruin my life. I don’t think about it if I can help it; and considering I’ve got Amy now – I don’t really think about it at all.  


“How’d he get it?” It matters. It matters a whole lot. I don’t want to find myself stuck with some kid, fresh out of the closet, crying on my shoulder, touching my hair. These kids, they’re not like they were when I was a teenager. They move faster. They try harder. Like that kid Brian. He tried; caught me completely unawares. One kiss on the lips and the next night I was sleeping in his bed. Doug hated me for that; said it was unethical. He was just jealous, but he thinks I’d never figure that out. Doesn’t want me to know that he gets like that over my partners.  


“Do you want the job?” No. I honestly don’t. It’s a bit too close to home for me. I can’t have anyone else handle it though; I know they’d never understand. The guys on the force – Ioki, Jude; they’d treat the kid nice and all, but he’d never trust them. I get the feeling Fuller chose me for a reason. Something he isn’t telling me. So I take it. There’s nothing else I can do.  


I don’t really bother to read up on him before I go. Normally I would, but it’s a bit too close for comfort, this talk of AIDS. Instead, I call up Doug’s new friend, Penny. Tell her he’s a good guy. Give him the chance he needs. Then I call Amy over, get her to spend the night. I can’t be alone. Not tonight. I’d think about it too much, about the kid, Harley, about his disease. About Doug.  


When I meet him, it’s like meeting any other kid. Except he knows I’m a cop. There’s no need to pretend to be his friend, but there’s this – feeling. I can see it already, in his body language. He doesn’t want me there. He’s jumpy. He’s moving, constantly. I talk to him, try to befriend him, but it’s not happening. He doesn’t want to be my friend. He doesn’t want to even try to get on with me. Tells me he’s dying, tells me I’ve no real bedside manner. When he lights the joint, I reach my tether. Is this what it’s like, having AIDS? You become an asshole who breaks the law?  


But then, when we reach the school, with the crowds outside; I see the fear in his eyes. I see the way he can’t handle this, not really. He doesn’t like the situation, so rather than let it screw him over, he does it first. He gives them the finger and tells them to swivel. That punk ass attitude that I’m getting used to is his way of coping. But then he’s an ass again, and all my thinking is out the window. I begin to think it’s like he’s having a complete laugh at my being there. He starts wanting to blow my cover, and part of me thinks, well go on then. Do it. But I know he won’t. He’s already smiling as we argue. So I give him attitude back.  


He honestly has no friends. It’s not something he wants to state out loud. He calms down a little, and for a moment I can see behind those eyes. He’s not exactly hideous. He could’ve been any of the kids I’ve busted before; some punk dealing, some kid in one of the classes without anything even wrong with them. He’s just so normal. And yet his outlook on life – so stunted. So alone. That scares me. When he offers me his milk, without even thinking, I say I don’t like chocolate. It’s a lie. He knows it. I know it. Hell, the whole damn town would know it if they could’ve seen it. And any faith he had in me – the moment he’d opened up – it’s all gone.  


“Yeah, well, no-one does.” Nobody does. It does my head in. The wall comes down, and I feel as though we’ve taken ten step backs. I wonder, if Doug had been here, what he’d have said. Would he have taken the milk? Yeah. I bet he would. Fuller should’ve put him on this one. I’m clearly no use to this kid, I’m petrified of his disease and it’s making me lose sight of my job.  


When we talk again, he’s back to that joker façade. The asshole, immune to everything except his own disease. He gets into some fight on the way home, and I wonder whether he was asking for it or not. Just so he can have the feel of people’s skin against his, the pressure of another body pressing against his, even if in anger. They call me his boyfriend. He didn’t even get AIDS like that, I think, it’s just a harsh remark from scared juveniles. They run over his bike as they leave and I offer him a lift, but he doesn’t listen to me. I’m not even there to him. He has that look again – the lost, sad look that makes me realize that he’s got no choice. People won’t accept him for who he is anymore, just because he accidentally got a disease. It wasn’t even his fault; that’s the worst part. If it were me, with Doug – then – in a way, that’d be my own fault. No protection, no care – but he had no choice. A life saving transfusion, killing him from the inside out.  


I spend the whole night thinking it over. How unfair it is. I nearly call Doug twice, but – I can’t bring him into it. Not with everything that’s going on between him and Penny. He’s just starting a new relationship; there’s no way I can just call him over to get his reassurance. Sometimes, you know, that’s all it needs. A bit of reassurance. But this time? This time, I think it’d need more. This time, I can’t even escape the feeling that something’s not right. I saw the way Harley looked at me; and yeah, I wondered if he was telling me the truth. But I think he was just hungry for the life I have. The fact I would get to live that long, and that he – he just won’t.  


He’s not at school the next day. I spend all morning looking for him, and then finally end up back at his house speaking with his mum. She’s a regular trouper. I wonder how hard it must be for her, knowing that her child, her baby, is dying in front of her eyes. She laughs at my hope for hope – staring at me with her big grey eyes and smiling. Her smile reminds me of her son, and her gentle persuasion that he likes me tells me all I need to know. She’s figured me out already. Harley might not have – and that’s ok – but she has. She knows, when I start talking about hope, that it’s not just for him I’m hoping. It’s then she mentions it, the fact he likes me. The way her eyes shine, laughing at me, it tells me that it’s not just as a friend. Does she even realise what she’s letting me know? Though, I can’t take it for granted, I assume I’m right. I understand then; she’s quite accepting of everything I’m feeling about this case - the unease about the fact it could happen to myself – to anyone like myself. Maybe she just knows by my concern that it could affect me. I don’t know. She does, however, let it slip where he is. And for a moment, I see the hope she no longer seems to believe in shine a little. Hope for a friend for her son, maybe. I just don’t know.  


Harley’s accident, to be honest, scares the living hell out of me. Riding around on a motorbike is hard enough as it is, but when you’ve got such a bad disease; it’s fatal if you crash. I thought he was dead for a second, but then there’s that attitude again. That attitude against my help. He’s still trying to blow me away, make me disappear. Deny the fact he seems to want to talk to me.  


“Unless we have sex … or uh,” And he stutters. There’s just a momentary pause, and I can see it. That moment of his thinking, trying to remember what he was saying. It’s really brief, but it’s enough. He’s clearly thought about it, the option of sleeping with someone – not necessarily me – and the fear of infection. “Share the same hypodermic needle; and I don’t know about you but I’m uh, not interested in either of those options.” Then he goes back to his façade again. He tries being friendly, but it’s a mocking friendship. He’s trying to make out that he doesn’t want me to fall, and at first I believe him, then – then it’s serious. He means me to be careful. It’s sweet; and then he’s mocking me again. Laughing at my inability to drive. The clutch is harsh; it’s nothing I can help.  


We go for a drink afterwards, but as he talks, something keeps playing on my mind. The way he paused earlier, the way he speaks to me. The way he acts. It’s all pointing to signs of – something else. The way he looked at me that first day; watching me to see how I react around him. When he admits he was lying about his disease, not having the bleeding disease; it hits me a little harder than I realize. He’s been lying to me all this time, and I was concerned. But he still has AIDS. And that’s what I was worrying about. He carries on – and then it hits home. He didn’t get it from a blood transfusion. He caught it – by having unprotected sex. I try to store this up. He says he’s not interested in me, but there’s a strange look he gives me, as if to say, I know you’re not interested in me, but I wish you could’ve been. It shakes me out of my shell. I think back to Doug – everything we’ve done between cases, between girlfriends – and then I look at this – 17-year-old kid, barely likely to live to our age, and I think, god. That could be me.  


“We don’t bite.”  


“I’m not worried.” And I’m not. Not about him. He’s already had that problem, he’s dealing. I’m fearing the worst for myself. When he starts talking about beating it, it cheers me, makes me think maybe I needn’t worry about it. But then he leads down the suicide path, and I’m back thinking the worst. If that’s the only way out that doesn’t involve the pain of long-term AIDS, then what hope is there? His mother’s right. I was right. He has no friends. Just me. I have Penhall, but he has nobody. Not even the guy. It makes me feel so sad, he’s planned it out and everything. He’s willing to die. He’s that close to the edge, just because he can’t handle it anymore. It’s ridiculous, but I don’t try talking him out of it. There’s no point. He’s got his heart set.  


I call Doug when we leave. Get him to come over, talk to me about everything he’s going through. Mentions of his girlfriend – Dorothy – crop up several times, but I’m hardly paying attention.  


“Hey, Hanson, you in there?” He knocks on my skull mockingly, the pushes my hair back, just to double check. I’ve barely said a word all night. I can’t think of anything other than Harley going over the edge. Harley losing himself to some guy, only to find out he’s got the worst possible STD. The night Brian and I slept together. We were protected, but – what if. What could’ve happened if we hadn’t been?  


“HANSON. Earth calling Hanson.” Doug’s fingers wave in front of me. “What’s the matter with you?”  


“Doug, what would you do if I had AIDS?” I haven’t even told him about my case. He doesn’t know what I’m working on – it’s a need to know basis, normally. He didn’t need to know. I hadn’t really spoken to him properly since the day I called Penny. He looks horrified at the question, and takes his hand away from my forehead.  


“Seriously?” He asks, but I guess I’ve already got my answer. Moving his hand away from me, he’s not touching me anymore. His face looks spooked.  


“Seriously.” There’s a moment’s silence, and I lean back into the sofa, hugging a pillow close to my chest. He doesn’t say anything, then leans over and kisses me on the lips. It’s a slow, lingering kiss that forces me to forget what we were talking about, at least until he moves away again.  


“I guess I’d do that.”  


“You wouldn’t care?” I ask, and he snorts, looking appalled.  


“Of course I’d _care_. You’d be dying, man, of course I’d _care_. It doesn’t mean that we wouldn’t carry on like this though. As long as we were careful – What’s bought this up?” He hesitates, and then says, “Is this to do with that time you and Brian-” and the look on his face makes me smile. So possessive, so jealous.  


“No. The guy in my case - he’s got AIDS. He’s dying, Doug. And he’s all alone.” I wonder, would he really still want to carry on, knowing I was carrying a life threatening disease? Would I? Harley told me that nobody wanted to touch him, barely even his parents. Could I live without touching Doug, without kissing Amy? Without even the most casual of hugs from my friends?  


“Penhall,” I start, but he’s already got this look in his eyes; the one where he’s contemplating things, trying to understand them. “Penhall!” I nudge him, and he raises an eyebrow.  


“What?”  


“He wants to die, Doug.” I hesitate again, “Would you really stick around if I had AIDS?” I ask, but he’s nuzzling my neck now, and I know all answers I get will be slowly sidetracked from the conversation, because he’s going to end up with his tongue in my throat.  


“You think I’d let you go through that alone?” He whispers, kissing my neck. I shrug, and then push him away. I just can’t deal with him like that, not when I’m trying to have an honest conversation.  


“I’m just asking.” I say. He sighs heavily in response, and collapses into the back of my sofa.  


“I would stick around even if you were dying of the plague. There we go. Does that make you happy?” There’s annoyance in his eyes, and it occurs to me he’s not really thinking it through. I roll my eyes and point to the door.  


“Go home Doug. Dorothy’s waiting for you. And trust me. You’re more likely to get with her tonight than me. Get it?” He frowns, but I can’t be bothered with him tonight. Not with that attitude. So he leaves, and I’m alone. I spend all night thinking about Harley’s suicide attempt; about the right thing to do by him.  


In the end, I decide to speak to Fuller about it; but the next day, when I do, he tells me that I know what I’ve got to do. I guess that I do, but it’s hard. I can’t stand knowing he wants to die, that he’s going to throw himself over that edge. If it were Doug – what would I do then? I’d try to stop him. So why not Harley? He doesn’t _want_ to die. He just can’t cope with his life falling apart so quickly. And why _should_ he be able to? He’s just a kid. Grown adults can’t even cope with the idea of AIDS. Why would some kid be able to?  


I manage to get there long before he does, and convince him not to do it. I knew he didn’t want to, under it all. But it must be horrible to live with. One mistake – one single mistake he made while in the heat of the moment, ruining his life forever. That’s all it was. He tells me, after I’ve taken him back to the bar; let him cry on my shoulder. One simple mistake. Anyone could make it. Doug could make it. _I_ could make it. If that’s all it takes; is it worth the risk, I wonder.  


For him, apparently, it wasn’t. The guy didn’t want to even know him afterwards. Would Doug? All that runs through my head is, would Doug, would Doug. And Harley can see that. I’m distracted; he picks up on it straight away.  


“You weren’t worried about me biting you, were you?” He asks, downing his drink. “When I told you – about – it wasn’t the idea of me attacking you, it was the fear of AIDS itself.” It amazes me how perceptive he is.  


“You worked it out that quickly?” I question, taking a sip of my own drink.  


“I had to think about it for a while. The way you acted when we first spoke of my disease – the way you reacted to my lies. When you said, was I lying about having AIDS, you were angry. Genuinely angry. At the idea I had made you consider it so much, perhaps. I don’t know.” He leans across the table to me, and adds. “I thought all coppers were straight as arrows.”  


I feel my lip curl up into a half-smile; amused at the way he’s put it. At how well he’s figured me out.  


“My partner – work partner – we’ve been on and off a while.” I hesitate, wondering why I’m telling Harley this. It’s not like he’d tell anyone, he’s got nobody else to tell, but it’s not the point. “It got me thinking, that’s all.” It seems a shame to tell him this, that his disease has made me think of my own relationship, but he seems not to be too bothered. He seems amused more than anything.  


“What, you saw the lonely life of an AIDS victim and thought, hey, would my guy desert me?” The sardonic smile on his face as he raises his glass tells me he already knows my answer, so I don’t bother replying. We talk a bit longer. He mentions again how little touch he’s had, just casually, and I can’t help but reach over to stroke his hair. It’s thin, fine, and somehow, he ends up in my arms, sobbing again. It’s not the first time of the day, but it’s the first time I feel his despair. While I have Doug, even if only in part, he truly has nobody.  


I can feel his body crunching against mine as much as it can, and I pull him in. I know the horrors of AIDS. How it gets passed. I know what’s safe, what isn’t. So when he reaches up, and kisses my neck, I don’t pull away. When he presses his lips against mine, dry, cracked lips, I don’t push him off. When his hands reach down and press against my crotch through my denim, I don’t back away. For him, it could be the last touch he gets. I can’t deny him that. I can’t help but kiss him back, pushing him against the leather seats and touching him through his clothes as much as I can. It’s not for my sake, he knows it and I know it. It’s for him. It’s all for him. When he pulls back, it’s because he wants to, not because he has to. We don’t talk about it. We sit, drinking our drinks. His hand caresses the back of mine, still keeping that contact even if only a little. We head outside, and he says goodnight with a final kiss. It isn’t anything special, just a teenage crush, but there’s despair in him, and tears run down his face. It’s the last time I see him alive.  


The next time I hear about him, I’m at Doug’s, avoiding Amy at all costs and trying not to murder Dorothy. She’s a true pain in the ass. It’s only when I’m on the phone to Harley’s mum that I know he’s taken his own life. She says it was pneumonia. And I want to believe her. But I know it wasn’t. When he told me he wanted to commit suicide rather than die from AIDS, he wasn’t kidding.  


I spend the night alone, thinking of that kiss, that moment in the bar. But I don’t tell Doug. There are some things that he just won’t understand. We share everything. But I can’t share that with him. It just wouldn’t be right for Harley. Later on, Doug admits he knows something happened. But – he knows not to ask. It’s just best that way. I might tell him one day, but right now, I can’t cope with talking about it. I just can’t.


End file.
